Page 77

“Maybe they’re waiting for us in the swamp,” Vapor counters, his voice low, sharp blue eyes alert. He signals to the others. “Fan out. Look for signs of Bella or the cartel.”

Our men head into the swamp in search of the enemy.

“Let’s check the building.” I approach it cautiously. The front door is cracked open, but no one seems to be inside. They would have shot at us when we moored the boat. If it weren’t for the footprints, I would think this place was deserted.

Pulling our guns from our cuts, Vapor and I enter side by side. Old wood creaks underfoot, echoing in the cavernous space. Dust motes dance in the gloomy light. It smells like decay and desperation, but there’s also the faint scent of oranges, like the shampoo Bella uses.

“She was here. I smell her.” I glance at Vapor.

“Keep looking.”

Every sense is dialed to eleven, every shadow a potential threat, every silence a held breath. This place is exactly where Juan would hold someone captive. Isabella isn’t the first person he’s kidnapped, but if I have anything to do with it, she’ll be the last.

“Look.” I point to a spot near the center of the room.

Broken zip ties litter the floor, smeared with blood—a brutal signature of resistance. Isabella fought like hell. An overturned chair nearby whispers tales of violence and defiance. My eyes linger on the scene, piecing it together with the precision of a forensic analyst. Isabella’s been here, alright. Who the hell else could it be?

“Looks like she got herself free,” Vapor mutters, his voice tinged with respect.

I can’t help but feel a swell of pride. Despite everything, she’s as tough as they come.

“Damn straight,” I reply, my voice low. “But where the hell did she go from here?”

“No fucking idea. Maybe she left a clue. Keep looking.”

We fan out, our movements silent save for the occasional crunch of debris underfoot. The stillness of the place gnaws at me, a reminder that every second counts in the hunt for Isabella.

Suddenly, outside, a shout from one of our men slices through the heavy air. “Found something!”

“Coming!” I bolt, my boots slamming against the weathered planks as I make for the door.

When I reach Gator, one of our patched members, he holds up a swatch of fabric. I recognize the pattern immediately.

“It’s Isabella’s,” I confirm.

“Where’d you find it?” Vapor asks Gator.

“Stuck on a bush over here.” He leads us to the spot before squatting and pointing at the ground. “Fresh tracks. More than one, too. I think the cartel guys followed her into the swamp.”

“She escaped the building. Found broken zip ties,” I tell him.

“Checks out. She ran. They followed.” Gator stands and looks from me to Vapor. “We going in?”

“Yeah,” Vapor says.

With every muscle coiled tight, I’m out into the muggy embrace of the swamp before my mind fully registers the move. I spot something up ahead. A scrap of cloth flutters in the grip of a thorny bush. It’s another piece of Isabella’s shirt.

“Over here!” I bark, instinctively taking command. The MC members gather around, squinting at the torn fabric. It’s a beacon, a signal fire. She’s alive. Somewhere out here, Isabella is fighting for her life, evading her captors with every ounce of cunning she possesses.

“Keep your eyes sharp,” I snap. “She’s close. I can feel it.”

We fan out into the swamp’s treacherous embrace. Every snap of a twig or rustle in the underbrush has me on edge, ready to spring into action. Isabella’s out there, depending on us to be her lifeline. And I’ll be damned if we’re not going to pull her back in.

Vapor catches up to me, his sharp blue eyes scanning the darkness before they lock on mine. “We need to comb through every inch of this swamp,” he says, voice low and commanding. “Does she know how to navigate it at night?”

“I don’t know, but I doubt it. She’s not exactly nature girl.”

“Then Juan’s men aren’t the only dangerous creatures out here.”